


the real thing

by titasjournal



Category: Star Wars RPF
Genre: Fluff, it will warm your heart!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titasjournal/pseuds/titasjournal
Summary: Carrie and Harrison dance in France. Set in 1977. Based off of the new carrison pictures,





	the real thing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this lil one-shot about those two new (amazing!) pics that surfaced of these two lovebirds back in 1977. This was also asked by a couple of anons on tumblr, @leiasreys on tumblr and maria on twitter. I hope y'all like it!

_“Miss Fisher?” he repeats, louder this time. “Do you?”_

The first time Carrie and Harrison were together in France was in 1977. The party was in full swing when they arrived, hand in hand. If Carrie’s memory wasn’t failing, that had been one of the first times (if not the first) where they actually held hands in a public setting. It felt _amazing_ , for a lack of a better word.

“Harrison, Carrie, look to the left!” a man carrying a huge camera shouted. “To the left, big smiles!”

Harrison immediately stiffened and crossed his arms in front of him. Carrie’s hand travelled up to his bicep, lacing her arm through his.

“To the left!” the man insisted.

Harrison obliged, but Carrie didn’t. Her gaze was glued to her date for the night, the impossibly grumpy but oh-so-dashing co-star. He did look insanely attractive in his black suit and white shirt. She’d picked her black dress by chance, not knowing they’d be matching for the whole night, and she couldn’t have been happier that she’d done so. _The pictures look incredible._

Sensing him getting tenser by the minute and the ease and carefree mood from a few hours prior dissipating faster than sand in a sandstorm, Carrie tugged on his sleeve and forced his gaze on hers:

“You’re barking up…” she whispers, smiling sweetly.

“The wrong tree!” his mouth metamorphoses into a wide grin.

It’s a sort of game they play. Out of all the games in their repertoire: cat and mouse in between takes, holding their breath the longest while kissing, hide and seek ( _that_ their hearts played every day), this was by far the silliest. They didn’t play it often, it was merely a way of alleviating unwanted strain. Yes, they finished each other’s sentences, but not in a cheesy, couple-y way. When they did it, the choice of sayings was never by chance, their voices always a specific tone and in sync. It was a coping mechanism sometimes too. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after all these months.

“Drastic times…” He offers, his arm languidly brushing her torso.

“Ask for drastic measures?”

He laughs and locks his hand in hers. “ _Call.”_

“Ugh, you’re right.” She feigns hurt and defeat, cracking another lazy smile from his lips. “Alright hotshot, my turn.” She scours her mind for a saying she hasn’t used up already as he leads them towards the bar.

“Hit the…” she says, a little too loudly.

“Hold on, baby.” He says. _Wait, what did he say?_

He turns to the bartender and asks for a glass of scotch. “And the lady?” a thick French accent echoes.

“Oh, I don’t drink.” She replies. Harrison laughs.

“Come on,” his shoulder nudges her, inciting her have a drink. “My treat.”

She blushes at the thought of Harrison Ford buying her a drink. _God, I’m hopeless._ “Alright, a glass of wine, please.”

Harrison looks pleased enough, turning around to lean back against the bar counter. She takes a tiny tentative step to the right, stepping in front of him. He chuckles at her sudden demure posture and brings a warm hand to her cheek. She smiles, leaning into the warmth. Then, his other hand lands on her waist, gripping it just a little too hard. This gesture forces him closer to her, their faces only inches apart. She closes her eyes, leaning in ever-so-slightly. He leans in too. The room is filled to the brim with noise and chattering and music, but suddenly she loses all notion of English, French and musical notes. He’s the only word she really needs.

“Mister, your drinks.” The bartender declares. _Damn._

Harrison clears his throat and pretends like they weren’t about to start making out in public: “Thank you.” He hands her her drink, stepping away from her somewhat.

“Could you please repeat?” He asks, his voice firm.

“Huh?” her look is of pure confusion.

“It’s your turn.” He waves with his hand towards her.

“Oh,” she exhales, taking a sip of her wine. “Hit the…” Carrie repeats.

He pretends to ponder her question for a second before answering: “Hit the hay!”

She furrows her brow and shoots back: “Hit the sack!”

“No one says “Hit the sack”, Carrie!” Harrison teases.

“Well, no one says “Hit the hay” either, Mr. Ford.” She playfully punches his arm and takes another gulp of her wine. She’ll be tipsy in no time.

“Agree to-“ she cuts him off.

“Agree to disagree!” he laughs as he realizes her silliness. She laughs right along with him.

“Come on kid, whatcha say you take this old man for a spin out there on the dance floor?” He sets their drinks down without waiting for her reply and their fingers intertwine. _Guess that “baby” was a one-time thing then._

And to the dance floor they go.

She smiles so tenderly as his hands travel the length of her bare arms, locking them on her hips. Like clockwork, her hands wrap around his neck, her fingers dancing in between his brown locks. The song changes to a more upbeat tune thankfully, taking the pressure off of them to slow dance in the middle of all these strangers.

The tempo speeds up and Harrison twirls Carrie around, her little black dress swaying along with her movements. She’s only holding his hand at this point, but he tugs her back into his chest, so close, his hand resting on her back. She holds on to him. His other hand finds hers. He grips it tightly. Their faces regain their previous status of being mere inches apart. Their noses brush, softly.

Then: “A penny for your-“ he whispers, so close to her lips.

“Your thoughts.” Her heart practically jumps out of her body.

“No, not to complete. To answer.” His lips curve into a charming smile just for her. _Just for me_.

“Oh,” she stiffens in his embrace. _I’m in love with you and I want you to take me right here on the dance floor, in a foreign country where we don’t know anyone._ Instead, she murmurs: “I’m so happy.”

His hand works its way further around her, their bodies completely glued to each other’s.

“Carrie,” his nose nudges hers, compelling her to look straight into his eyes. _Oh, so blue._ “Kid, I- I, hum,” he tries.

Then, like a chant inside her mind: _What? What, what, what?_

“You’re it, kid.” He manages to spit out. “You’re the one I want.”

_Wait a second… Does he mean that… He actually likes me?_

“Wait, you actually like me?” she shakes her head, her hair cascading down her back. “I’m so confused.”

“Nothin’ to be confused for.” He sets her hand free only to graze his thumb along her bottom lip. “You know me inside out. And even though we’re together most days, I still want one more second with you.”

She shakes her head at the unbelievable words he’s speaking. It’s too much, too perfect, too good to be true.

“Let me get this straight,” her voice is smooth, like honey. “You… love me?” he suppresses a shy laugh, but nods. “You love _me_?”

“Yes, you.” This time he laughs, a whole, wonderful laugh.

“That’s,” she starts, still disbelieving. “Well, that’s really good.” She laughs along with him. “That’s really _really_ good!” she laughs harder and he does so too. And they stand there, laughing their eyes out, as a flash goes off in their direction. _Now, that’s a picture I’ll hang up in the living room_.

“This is it, huh?” she giggles.

“You betcha,” his hand cradles the back of her head. “The real thing, the whole shebang.”

His warm fingers press against the smooth skin of her neck, propelling her forward. Her lips travel half the way to his, hovering there for a second. She savors this victory and she already knows how it’ll taste: _sweet._

He holds her close to him, his lips pressing against hers softly. It’s an innocent kiss, a loving kiss. He makes sure to thrust every ounce of loving he has stored in him into this one kiss, channeling all the missed opportunities and all the passion he feels for her in this one lock of lips.  

_So, when the man asks her again, so many years later: “Do you take this man to be your wedded husband?” Carrie nods. Then, she winks at his groom: “It takes two to tango.”_


End file.
